


Nightshade

by Deadpan9618



Series: Of Springstars And Sunflowers [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, does this count as a drabble? it's kind of short, not between crowley and azi tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadpan9618/pseuds/Deadpan9618
Summary: Crowley does not want the Holy Water for 'Insurance.'But he does not want to kill himself either, not really.He just wants it all to end.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Series: Of Springstars And Sunflowers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802824
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	Nightshade

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since i posted. i don't know why i wrote this, i just love hurting our babies, and there is a severe lack of crowley/lucifer fanfic. Hope you enjoy, and remember to read the tags, this is a brutal one. (hopefully)

Crowley knew what it was to feel pain.

He had felt his wings burning, seen charred feathers peeling off melted flesh, felt the visceral pain of his entire essence being set aflame.

He had felt the punishing grip of strong fists, bruising, choking, holding on and never letting go. Just like he had always promised.

He had felt crude clubs bashing against his skin, heard the horrifying thud of them, the stomach churning cracking of his very human skull, the warm, sticky sensation of blood running down his face, almost as red as the fiery hair it was matting to his skin. 

Crowley knew every type of pain.

A thousand rejections. This is just one of them, a common occurrence. Soon it will be over. It will all be over.

It barely phased him anymore. Or, to be more accurate, sometimes it didn’t phase him, sometimes it set off a thousand alarm bells in his head, his mind screaming at him to find the source of the pain, to get away, to protect himself. To crawl away like he always did.

But this one is heartrending, it shatters him to pieces. To see that tiny, insignificant piece of paper, on which he had carefully, ever so carefully, scrawled his final request with shaking hands. He had never quite gotten used to having them after all.

That’s all he was, really. A little, crawling snake. Even in his human form, he wore the brand of his rejection always, in his shoes, his tattoo. His eyes. A burden. A freedom, Lucifer would say.

His freedom to live, to die. All in the hands of one infuriating angel. It wasn’t as easy for Crowley as it was for the humans. He couldn’t just make a few well placed cuts on his wrist, or stab a knife into his neck like them. He needed something only Aziraphale could give him.

You’ve lost yourself. That’s what Lucifer would say if he were here.

No, Crowley would say back. I’m no longer yours.

Except he wouldn’t say it. Except he was. 

Crowley couldn’t be bothered to fight anymore. He couldn’t be bothered to struggle, to bite and snark and tease. What was the point? All he was doing was cutting off his nose to spite his face. So why fight? Why not pretend it was like the old days, when Lucifer was a benevolent protector, someone who would help him instead of hurt him, who would protect him instead of being the one Crowley needed protection from.  
Crowley would always be Lucifer’s. He would always feel it, deep inside his bones. An eternal mark of servitude, of evil, that would always lurk on his skin, that could never be ignored.

So how could he fight his angel, his friend who he shouldn’t be friends with, a wonderful, kind, bit-of-a-bastard angel.

An angel who he loved.

How could he argue? He lacked the strength to. He lacked the strength to dispute Aziraphale’s hurtful words, so he fired back with those of his own.

He was tired. Exhausted, really. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep.

His note burned. Crowley did too.

When Crowley got home that day, he felt an ache deep in his bones, deep in his soul. A feeling he could not name, burning as hot and as bright as the flames that licked into him in his nightmares. He was helpless to do anything but collapse to his desk, hoping and praying that it would all be over soon.

But why would She grant Crowley’s prayers? She had deemed him imperfect, flawed, tossed him into the lava and left him to suffer, left him wishing that all of him had burned away, instead of just Her love. 

He was a failed creation. Something that had once shone bright and whole, reduced to burning rubble.

I didn’t so much as fall as… sauntered vaguely downwards.

A bare-faced, blatant lie. Aziraphale obviously saw right through it. Saw the pain in Crowley’s eyes, heard his words as he was told he carried the last spark of hope that remained for him, and declined. Rejected. Like he always did.

Why did Crowley think he was better? Why did Crowley place his faith in his hereditary enemy, why did he believe that he could be free at last, why, why, why?

All those conversations, all those secret, clandestine meetings. The Arrangement, their friendship, all for nothing. It would have been better to just not say anything, to try to live on, to not be such a fucking coward, to not ruin everything, like he always did.

Crowley remained locked in battle with himself, arguing and screaming and crying inside his head until sanity seemed a far away memory, echoing inside the lonely, empty building that was Crowley’s substitute for home.

He found himself stumbling through the corridors, down the stairs and into the wine cellar, reaching for a bottle of chardonnay that lay gathering dust on the rack, using a miracle to pop the cork, and downing it all in one go. He could feel that familiar fuzziness in his brain, rising up and taking over, muting all his thoughts, pushing them into the back of his mind and replacing them with a pleasing numbness. Crowley collapsed to the dusty floor, its coldness chilling his intoxicated serpent’s body to the core. But Crowley was helpless. Helpless but to try and get up, surrounded by the detritus of shattered bottles and wine and sick, and collapse back to ground, watching as the redness of his blood mixed with the redness of the wine, its inhuman sheen standing out against the darkness of the basement. 

There, The Serpent of Eden slept alone.

Crowley remembered the day he drank for the first time. 

He had followed Adam and Eve’s ancestors, watching in amazement as they had grown and developed their own culture, completely unique and distinct from that of Celestials. And with culture came many things, new things, that had never been seen before. Crawly liked the dancing. Liked the way his snake instincts were magnetically drawn to the rhythm, the way his human body contorted and stretched to create magic. Crawly had heard of music and singing, of course. He had been an angel once, and in Heaven, singing the praises of the Lord was one of their only pastimes. But angels don’t dance, as he found out to his disappointment when Aziraphale refused. But demons do. When Hell found out about dancing? The foundations of the cavern the fallen had made their home in shook with badly coordinated rhythm. 

It felt like a mockery whenever Crawly danced again after that.

When he was offered a strange smelling beverage, he drank, unafraid. He had not yet seen what could happen if you ate things strangers gave you. Humanity was too young, too innocent back then. Just children. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

The liquid tasted bitter going down his throat, and burned pleasantly in his stomach. Soon, Crawy was slurring his words, stumbling across the sun-burnt ground. His body felt both weightless and too heavy at the same time. Soon, he found himself sitting alone, staring out into the quiet savannah. It was that time of night when all the animals were silent, when even the nocturnal ones bowed to the luminescent glow of the moonlight, and entered the reveries of their own minds.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”  
The words broke through the mist in Crawly’s head, and he turned around to meet the eyes of Satan, The King of Hell. Known to Crawly as Lucifer on rare occasions.

The lesser demon took a moment to collect himself, not wanting to look like a fool in front of his boss/lover. “W-What are you doing here?” 

“What am I doing here indeed?” Lucifer opened his mouth in a wide smile, revealing teeth to sharp and gleaning white to be human. “I know I don’t usually like to disgrace this awful planet with my presence, but I thought I would make an exception for my darling serpent.”

Crawly nodded and smiled back, completely mesmerised by Lucifer’s eyes. They looked like the eyes of goats, with deep black slit pupils that shone in the firelight. His iris looked like a mini fire itself, glowing red and orange. Crawly knew they could be brighter than the sun, had seen them when they were so. Up in Heaven, Lucifer’s light shone nearly as bright as God. Even now, it could glow just as bright. Crawly knew that, if Lucifer wished, he could raze the entire planet with the force of the sun. The thought terrified him.

He was burning, falling, burning, falling, burning, falling, as he called out their names…

But nobody came.

“Are you going to say something, darling?” Lucifer’s face was totally deadpan, his bright eyes flickering with impatience.

Don’t make me do something you won’t like, they seemed to say, and Crawly shuddered. He had no idea when Lucifer would make good on his many implied threats. He didn’t want it to be soon.

“Uh, just, just looking at the fire, m’lord. Isn’t it beautiful?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow, and Crawly cringed inwardly. He’d slurred pretty badly there. It was a while before he realised that Lucifer was saying something else.

“How, ah, eloquent of you, darling.”

“Sorry, is, uh, it’s just ‘cause I- M’ drunk.”

“I believe that’s what they call it, yes.”

“S-Sorry-”

“Oh!” Lucifer laughed. “It’s not a problem!

“I-It’s not?”

“Definitely not. In fact, it’s genius!”

Crawly felt like his thoughts were wading through mud. They arrived slowly, and didn’t make much sense to him. But he was still alert. It was as if he was relying on instinct alone, and he didn’t know if he liked it. His words were his weapons, his carefully thought out plans often his only way of escape in a sticky situation. Which this was turning out to be.

Lucifer seemed to be able to read Crawly’s mind, and his grin turned even bigger.

“Poor little snake has lost his venom.” Lucifer carefully approached Crawly, as if he were a wild animal. Which perhaps he was. “Can’t fight off the big bad wolves anymore. Whatever shall he do?” Lucifer’s thumb pressed against Crawly’s bottom lip, and Crawly accepted it into his mouth eagerly, with a sigh of relief. He was safe. Perhaps. If he fucked up while Lucifer was in a mood, he either laughed it off, or got mad. Crawly had no way of gauging which one it would be. He was both scared and aroused. Mostly scared.

What to do what to do game plan game plan don’t hurt me no please don’t hurt me

Crawly’s entire body felt malleable, like honey. He was trapped in a syrupy kind of twilight, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to escape or if he wanted to stay forever. The sensation of Lucifer’s lips on his was driving him insane, and every caress of his hands on Crawly’s body felt like fire. Crawly found himself minutely shifting his hips, pressing up, up, up into Lucifer’s hold, seeking friction. “Desperate.” Crawly heard Lucifer whisper as he wrapped a hand around Crawly’s sex, laughing when he bucked up into the tight grip around him. 

Lucifer threw his head back quickly, looking back at the human camp. “Do you have any place where we can be alone?”

“Y-yeah,” Crawly stuttered, pointing towards the camp. “H’ve a tent.”

“Good.” Lucifer whispered, leaning forward and kissing Crawly’s forehead. Before hoisting him up into his arms. Crawly whimpered at the loss of friction, but Lucifer silenced him with another savage kiss. Crawly could hear the human’s song, but they didn’t seem to notice the two of them as they entered the darkness of Crawly’s tent.

Lucifer found the bed quickly, and placed Crawly upon it before getting on top of him. Fingers miraculously slicked with some kind of oil crept up Crawly’s leg, and the demon let out a needful whine. Lucifer let out another low laugh, and pressed against Crawly’s hole, a finger slipping inside the tight ring of muscle. Crawly let out a gasp, straining upwards. Lucifer’s finger burned inside of him as it stretched him out, and Crawly whimpered and thrashed about in pain as another finger was added, and pressed against that little spot that made Crawly see stars.  
“P-Please.” 

“I know, darling; not much longer now.”

Crawly let out a fresh moan as Lucifer began to rub against his prostate, making his knees shake with the pleasure rippling through his body. He could feel Lucifer’s hardness pressing against his leg, and let out a hiss of pure want. 

“My lord… My lord, please-”

“Ask properly.”

Crawly’s hips stuttered upwards when Lucifer began rubbing circles on Crawly’s cock through the fabric of his tunic. His mind was full of fog, and his heart thumped fast with arousal. Nausea slowly began to rise in his stomach along with the slowly building force of his orgasm.

“Please, my lord.” Crawly was badly slurring now; it felt like he could barely think, barely breathe. “Please, Lucifer-” Crawly felt a sharp pinching on his thigh. “Please, m-my lord, my lord, please, please fuck me, please, need you so bad-”

“Shhhh.” Lucifer slowly kissed Crawly, his eyes full of affection and mirth. “It’s okay, I’ll give you what you want, since you asked so nicely.” Lucifer slowly rubbed at his tattoo, and once again bared his perfect teeth in a predatory smile. “My Crawly.”

Without any more preamble, he slid himself into Crawly’s tight entrance. Crawly let out a groan at the feeling, the stretch of Lucifer’s cock inside him. He reached upwards with his arms, attempting to cling to him, but Lucifer batted his hands away.

“Don’t worry, darling. Just let yourself feel good.”

It was sloppy and primal, the thrust of Lucifer’s cock moving inside of him, the animalistic grunts escaping from his mouth, the broken moans flowing out of Crawly’s, a constant, brutal sound, building up into an inevitable crescendo, and Crawly couldn’t help but rut his hips up against Lucifers stomach, the sparkling pleasure within him was rising, rising, rising-

And Crawly came with a groan, painting his robe with white, the pleasurable haziness of his orgasm adding to the alcohol induced fog in his brain, and he couldn’t help but cry out with the continuing force of Lucifer’s thrusts, bordering on the edge of too much. Though, with the constant clenching of Crawly’s muscles and the moans slipping from his mouth, the serpent soon found himself being filled with Lucifer’s spend.

The Demon King collapsed beside his lover as Crawly panted and shook with the aftershocks. He could dimly register Lucifer whispering something to him, but his mind was too hazy to comprehend the words. He let out a confused sound, but Lucifer just laughed and began toying with Crawly’s hair, before repeating himself.

“I said, ‘I told you not to move.’”

Shit. Did he? Crawly’s heart began thudding against his ribcage, fear beginning to override his intoxicated mind, any pleasant feelings from his orgasm quickly melting from his mind.

“S-Sorry.”

Lucifer gave a low chuckle, and tugged on Crawly’s hair, nearly pulling it right out of his scalp.

“What about, ‘I’m sorry, my lord’?”

“‘M sorry, m-m-my lord.”

Lucifer released Crawly’s hair, much to his relief, and kissed the demon’s cheek. 

“Good, darling. You did a good job.”

Crawly nodded blearily, tiredness and nausea filling his being. “M-my lord.”

“It’s alright, you can sleep now, Crawly.”

Crawly let out a tired sound somewhere between a yawn and a groan, and slowly closed his sulfur-yellow eyes. But he still felt tense, his body ready to flee, to run, to hide, even though by this point it probably lacked the capacity too.

After all, Lucifer would still be there in the morning.


End file.
